


don't let me off easy, don't you let me go

by zenelly



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Safeword Use, This is a character study that grew legs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 03:08:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19123336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenelly/pseuds/zenelly
Summary: In theory, this works. In theory, Tsumugi is the obedient follower he always insists he is, and he follows Natsume's instructions perfectly.In practice, it takes more work than that.





	don't let me off easy, don't you let me go

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Не отпускай меня так легко, не отпускай](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19150909) by [sanzhadoz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanzhadoz/pseuds/sanzhadoz)



> I have a lot of feelings about the whys and hows of Aoba Tsumugi submitting (and most of them are: he's bad at it because he's bad at managing his own boundaries) so this is an exercise for both him and Natsume when they switch it up like this. I also have a lot of feelings about them switching who Doms and who subs. Talk to me about it. 
> 
> As for the tagged safeword usage, Tsumugi and Natsume operate on the traffic light system, and Tsumugi tells Natsume to slow down at one point. This is listened to immediately and rewarded.
> 
> Fic title is from "Lucky Stars" by Coheed and Cambria
> 
> NOTE: This fic has been translated into Russian by the amazing @ovsyankass on twitter! [The fic in Русский can be read here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19150909)

This should be easy for him.

Tsumugi takes a deep, shuddering breath, testing the strength of the ropes around his wrists like a habit now. Pull, resist, twist, resist. No give. Tsumugi can feel his pulse center in his wrists. Right where the rope rests. This should be easy. If he could only relax and let himself settle into the warmth that surrounds him, then he can access that part of his brain that takes over in times like this.

This should be easy, but it isn’t. Tsumugi struggles to keep his breathing even. His heart stutters against the ropes through the thin skin of his inner wrist, bird-quick and light, and his head isn’t going to the foggy, goal focused place where he feels good and wants nothing more than to please.

“Senpai.”

Tsumugi’s eyes jerk up, up the long line of Natsume’s arm and shoulder to the curious tilt of his mouth, still faintly red and swollen from Tsumugi’s lips and teeth, up further to his eyes. Down in a flash because Natsume hadn’t said he could look. Hadn’t said Tsumugi had to look either, and the uncertainty sits uneasily with Tsumugi right now.

What should he do? What does he need to do? Does he wait?

It’s so strange. He wants to obey, wants to go easily and quietly, pulled along by the hand in his hair. Tsumugi wants this, but he can’t stop his brain from thinking, from figuring out what his goal is, what Natsume wants out of him, what he needs to _do_ to get Natsume pleased and gasping, how he can do it faster if he just-. Tsumugi _knows_ he can make it good. He knows that if he can get Natsume’s wrists in his hands, he can pin Natsume down and ply him into the mattress until his eyes go gratifyingly dark. If he gets to be in charge, Tsumugi knows he can make it good.

Is that what Natsume wants?

Does Natsume want Tsumugi to fight back and take charge as he sometimes does? Tsumugi searches Natsume’s face and finds- Nothing. Nothing aside from patience and a vague sort of curiosity that sticks beneath Tsumugi’s skin and itches.

What does Natsume _want_?

“Senpai, relax Please.”

“I’m trying, Natsume-kun. I just- I’m sorry, I-“

“You’re thinking too Much.”

Tsumugi lets out a dry laugh because, well, he is. He can’t figure out what Natsume wants him to do and that’s leaving him unsettled and tense instead of warm and open and easily obedient for Natsume to play with. He wants, in this moment, to take control back, to stop this unsettled-sick shiver skittering across his shoulders that tells him to use his voice and hands and mouth to take care of everything for Natsume and-

A cool hand cups his chin. Natsume tilts his face up, considering. “You’re not doing well with your hands Tied,” he says.

Biting on the inside of his lips, Tsumugi finds himself blinking furiously, staving off tears and the hot twist of shame and frustration. It mixes poorly with the cold, gnawing sense that Tsumugi is failing somehow. That he isn’t good at this and never has been. Certainly not good enough for someone like Natsume. It’s not enough. It doesn’t matter. Natsume sees it anyway and runs a thumb over his eyes, catching the tears.

“Color?”

He wants to be _good_. Tsumugi wants nothing more than to give Natsume what he wants. So he swallows the taste of iron in his mouth. “Green.”

Natsume’s leonine eyes narrow. “I’m going to keep you bound like this if you say green Again, Senpai. Color?”

Steadying his heartbeat is more difficult than it should be. Tsumugi flexes his hands, caught tight in the small of his back and tingling. He can do this. He can. He can sit and take orders and not try to anticipate Natsume’s needs and only listen to what he is directly told. Closing his eyes, Tsumugi hears nothing but the harsh rasp of his own breathing.

He can do this.

And then, a whisper.

“Yellow. I- I can’t, Natsume-kun, not my hands right now.”

Natsume is behind in him a moment, and Tsumugi’s hands are free before he can force his eyes open again. Natsume wastes no time in taking them and guiding Tsumugi to cup his face, rubbing his wrists with soft, uncalloused fingers. “Good,” he says bizarrely and Tsumugi can’t have heard that right. He isn’t good. Not with this lump of white-hot shame burning its way through his sternum. “You did good to say Yellow, Tsumugi. You did just as I asked You. Good Boy.”

Tsumugi bites his lip so hard he bleeds and this time, the taste of iron floods his mouth stronger than before. It- It’s almost believable. Tsumugi is desperate to accept Natsume’s words as truth, but if he was _really_ good, he would have known what to do before Natsume had to tell him. He would have just _done_ what Natsume wanted.

He would have _known_.

“I’m sorry, Natsume-kun, I’m sorry. I should have-“

“Shh, shh, Don’t Apologize, Tsumugi-niisan. You did exactly what I wanted you To.” Natsume strokes his wrists, brings one of Tsumugi’s hands to his neck. “Follow Me.”

Without breaking contact, Natsume sits back in the chair he was in before, guiding Tsumugi to stand between his legs. Tsumugi gets to keep his hand on Natsume’s throat, next to his pulse, and even though it leaves him bent over awkwardly, he prefers that and the loop of Natsume’s fingers around his wrists to the impersonal distance that had been between them before.

“Do you remember what we Spoke of Earlier? About what…” and Natsume’s mouth twists to the side, pink now instead of red, and ever dip and curve of it is dear to Tsumugi. “About what Tenshouin did with You? Back in Fine?”

And he remembers. Of course he remembers meeting with _fine_ , the way Eichi’s knee hung over his shoulder, and the weight of Hiyori and Nagisa’s gazes on his back. Of course he remembers that. How could he not? He remembers feeling flush with excitement and wonder and something a little like pride but hotter, a fever beneath his skin. He felt special. Like this was something _only he_ could provide for Eichi. Only Tsumugi could sit before Eichi and the others like this, owned. Special. Wanted.

He never really noticed until afterwards how Eichi was always looking over him, gauging how other people reacted. Less concerned about Tsumugi himself and always, always, with what he got out of Tsumugi’s service. The heel of his boot dug against Tsumugi’s spine, pulling him closer, and Tsumugi went.

But the pressure never abated.

(Tsumugi remembers more than anything, though he does not like to think on it, feeling cold when he looked up and saw that Eichi was not looking back. He wanted, like a fish hook wants the corner of a mouth, the comfort of those blue eyes digging in and pulling him along. Wanted that thin connection. But not having it was the norm for them.

Eichi, gaze far above Tsumugi.

And Tsumugi, kneeling, devoted, and uncaring.)

But all Tsumugi does is lick his lips now and nod.

“Tsumugi,” Natsume says again, and like this, Tsumugi can feel the vibrations of his own name. Transmitted from vocal chords to the soft skin of Tsumugi’s palms, through his tendons and into his bloodstream, carried directly to his heart by every pulse of his blood. Tsumugi could only hear the way his name sounds in Natsume’s mouth for the rest of his life and he would die happy.

Focus.

Taking a breath clears his thoughts, centers him briefly. Natsume called his name. Tsumugi focuses on him, focuses on the staggered thrum of their joined heartbeats, trying to align. Natsume waits to be sure Tsumugi is paying attention, then smiles. “Tsumugi-niisan, I’m going to tell you to Kneel, and if you Do, I’m going to put you exactly where I want You. Color?”

“Green,” and this time, Tsumugi feels only warm.

He’s rewarded, first, with a rare, pleased smile, before his hand is removed from Natsume’s throat. Then, second, with Natsume’s own hand firm in his hair, guiding him down.

And now, now Tsumugi goes easily and quietly. Now, Tsumugi lowers himself to his knees and folds his legs up until he’s sitting properly in seiza. Natsume strokes his head once before pulling hard on his hair. The pain swells- then disperses into heat that jolts through Tsumugi’s nerve-endings.

“Forward,” he orders.

Tsumugi shifts until he’s right against the chair. Natsume’s legs on warm on either side of him. His heart drowns out every other sound, filling his mouth and every bit of him. He is heat and feeling, bordered and held in place by Natsume’s hand in his hair, his feet alongside Tsumugi’s ankles and calves. He exists only where Natsume wants him.

“I am putting you,” Natsume says, and it cuts through all of that, calm, the voice Tsumugi knows better than his own, “exactly where I want You, Tsumugi-niisan. Do you Understand?”

A weight on his shoulder. A firm line against his back down his spine, slightly off-center.

Tsumugi kneels at the feet of someone he reveres, caught and kept between their legs. Natsume’s knee is over his shoulder, a solid weight that keeps Tsumugi anchored in place. Almost every one of Tsumugi’s sense are filled by Natsume in that moment. Every breath pushes Tsumugi’s back against Natsume’s leg, and this close, he can smell the soaps and detergent that linger in Natsume’s clothes. He can look nowhere except up at Natsume.

Searching his eyes, Natsume must see something that has his expression softening, and Tsumugi whines when Natsume resumes petting his hair. Even, lingering strokes.

“Do you know,” Natsume begins slowly, and Tsumugi brings his focus to the familiar burr of Natsume’s voice, distinct, a pitch he can find anywhere in a crowd, “why I wanted you to safeword, Tsumugi-niisan?”

As much as he hates to admit it, he doesn’t. So he shakes his head, a jerky motion.

“I wanted you to admit, out loud, in the moment, that you weren’t comfortable with something.”

Tsumugi’s throat is tight as he tries to swallow. “Why would you want that?”

Natsume’s fingers card through his hair, firm and possessive, long strokes that leave Tsumugi’s hair curling around each digit until the very last second, as though they, too, are loathe to let go. His voice is even and soft, the sharp uptick that typically characterizes his speech sanded off by their shared intimacy. “So you knew where your boundary was. And so I could trust you to tell me when to stop. You’re too self-effacing at the best of times. In a situation like this? Where I have you in the palm of my hand and you are mine to control and mine to hold? You would have lied if you thought it was what I wanted.”

Stirring, Tsumugi protests-

-until Natsume’s grip tightens, pain flicking into a hazy jolt of arousal again. Just enough to quiet him. “Right now, Tsumugi-niisan, you are exactly where I want you, doing exactly what I want you to. Do you understand?”

Does he? Tsumugi has to see, has to look up, and when he does, Natsume is looking right back. Hooking him gently and reeling him in. Tsumugi whispers, “Yes, I understand.”

And means it.

Natsume smiles. Carefully, he lifts Tsumugi’s glasses off of his face. The world goes fuzzy, but it’s alright. Natsume is right here, after all. Distantly, Tsumugi is aware that Natsume sets his glasses to the side, but the immediacy is lost with the return of Natsume’s hand in his hair. “Good. Sit. I’ll let you know when you can move again. You may rest your head on my thigh.”

“Thank you, Natsume-kun,” Tsumugi murmurs, and when he leans his cheek on Natsume’s warm thigh, the hand stroking his hair is gentle.

He loses track of himself a little there. He doesn’t have anything to think about aside from the buzzing of his blood in his ears and the weight of Natsume’s leg over his shoulder, holding him in place. He sits, put in the spot where Natsume wants him. Whenever he looks up, Natsume is looking back, just at him. Only always at him.

Between one breath and the next, Tsumugi realizes that he is floating.

Eventually, Natsume shifts. His aimless petting turns a bit more pointed, and Tsumugi’s attention is gently gathered.

“You’ve done very Well, Tsumugi-niisan.” Tsumugi shivers, both from the words and from the fingers that curl around the shell of his ear, tracing the sensitive skin. “And, in Return, I’m going to let you do something you Want, Alright?”

Tsumugi nods. Whatever Natsume wants, he’ll provide.

“Tsumugi-niisan, make me feel Good.”

And with near soundless groan, heard more in the hitch of his breath than anything else, Tsumugi comes to life. Finally, he lifts out of seiza, mouthing up the seam along Natsume’s inner thigh. The fabric is skin-warm and rough beneath his lips, but Tsumugi chases every quiver and jolt he entices from Natsume higher and higher, until he’s nosing at the join of Natsume’s legs.

Both of Natsume’s legs are over his shoulders, pressed wide across the breadth of his body. Tsumugi curls one hand over the ridge of Natsume’s hip. Wedges the other beneath the swell of his ass, and all the while, Natsume’s gaze burns him, never leaving, watching Tsumugi intently as Tsumugi tilts Natsume back. The fabric beneath his mouth is damp, and Tsumugi presses the flat of his tongue against Natsume’s heat, feeling the shape of his interest grow.

Above him, Natsume gasps out these pitchy, cut-off little noises, and Tsumugi can’t-

-has to-

-wring those out more. He’s supposed to make Natsume feel _good_ , and there’s only so much he can do with all of this fabric in the way. Tsumugi pulls back a little, breath heaving in his lungs. He doesn’t want to let go of Natsume’s hip but-

A shaking hand pops open the button on Natsume’s pants before Tsumugi’s mouth can get there. Grateful, Tsumugi kisses his knuckles and lets Natsume shimmy out of his pants while he industriously applies himself to sucking a bruise into the soft, sensitive skin running along the crease of Natsume’s hip.

“Tsumugi-niisan, you have to- _move_ ,” Natsume whines sharply at a particularly hard bite, and pulls hard at Tsumugi’s hair, guiding him lower again. “Come _on_.”

Tsumugi, finally easy, finally permissive, goes.

Natsume’s legs are shaking like he can’t help it, quivering straight to pieces on either side of Tsumugi’s shoulders. His hips thrust, try to, fighting against Tsumugi’s grip on him that keeps him balance on the edge of his seat. And Tsumugi focuses on one thing. Making Natsume feel good.

Every bit of his attention attunes to the moans and praise falling from Natsume’s lips, the jolt of his hips. Tsumugi rubs Natsume’s entrance with one finger, a promise of a spit-slick stretch that has Natsume hitching out broken pleas

When Natsume’s voice breaks and Tsumugi’s mouth is flooded with his taste, Tsumugi’s mind is blissfully, thankfully silent. He exists only within the confines of Natsume’s skin, bright points of contact setting him fully ablaze, and he eagerly laps at the salty taste of Natsume’s skin until he’s pulled away by his hair.

He’s greeted by the sight of a flushed, panting Natsume, visibly quaking and struggling to catch his breath. His chest heaves, and Tsumugi can see the shape of his ribcage with every desperate inhale where Natsume’s shirt has ridden up. Tsumugi leans back. Natsume’s legs fall bonelessly to either side of him.

His pulse is a low, hot ache centered between his legs, and Tsumugi wants-

He wants.

“Come on, Tsumugi-niisan,” Natsume says, hungry. “Let me See.”

With a groan, Tsumugi’s shaking fingers fumble with his zipper. Immediate relief follows the release of his cock, the pressure no longer a distant concern, and when he closes a fist around himself, he’s already slick, overeager and wound up from taking Natsume apart. The first stroke is agony of the best kind. Even the smallest amount of stimulation is too much after ignoring himself for so long, but Tsumugi can’t, won’t stop.

Natsume is a warm-colored blur above him, close enough that only his edges are fuzzy. His pace stuttering, Tsumugi fucks into his fist. The pleasure is sharp-edged, desperate to crash recklessly into climax, the way a wave crashes into the shore. His teeth dig into his lip.

And then, pressure.

Tsumugi forces his eyes open, unsure of when or how they closed, to see Natsume slide into his lap. Natsume is uncoordinated, graceless in the aftershocks of orgasm, as he loops his arms around Tsumugi’s neck. Biting the soft skin behind Tsumugi’s ear, he moans, “For Me. Do it for Me, Senpai. Let me see you Come.”

White-shock lightning spills between Tsumugi’s fingers and up his spine, striking again and again and again in jittering bolts. He turns his face and Natsume catches his mouth in a kiss immediately, consuming every broken-off whimper Tsumugi makes as he comes.

It takes a few minutes for Tsumugi to form coherent thought again, and most of that is at the protest of his knees, finally complaining after sitting for so long. Natsume levers himself upright. He makes a face at the state of his clothes, prissy as ever about his appearance even when it’s just the two of them, but forgoes worrying about it in favor of helping Tsumugi up.

They collapse nude into bed together, where Natsume half-dozes on Tsumugi for a few minutes before sitting up to prod at his knees and thighs, checking him for bruises, and Tsumugi, indulgent, lets him. He never relinquishes his hold on Natsume’s hand though, busy watching the way the light glints off of the blue stone on Natsume’s finger. How it contrasts with the red on Tsumugi’s.

Darting a glance at Natsume’s back, Tsumugi swallows. “Would you have kept going? At the start, if I had said green?”

“I would have, just as I said I would. But I wouldn’t have gone any further.” Natsume sighs, and Tsumugi lifts heavy lashes to see Natsume sweep his hair back behind his ear, white peeking through red like a secret. “You aren’t the only one who can back out of this arrangement after all, and I wouldn’t have felt right doing anything more.”

Tsumugi nods.

Then, quietly, says, “I’m glad I said yellow.”

Natsume crawls back up the bed, imperiously wedging himself against Tsumugi’s shoulder where he prefers to sleep, nosing up against the soft skin of Tsumugi’s throat. “I suppose you can learn to follow directions after All, Senpai.”

“Ah, are we back to senpai? I enjoyed all of the “Tsumugi-niisan”s you were giving me.”

A sniff. “Those are gifts and should be Regarded as Such. Don’t get too Comfortable.”

“I love you.”

“You had Better.” Natsume kisses the hollow of his throat, threading their fingers tightly together, and Tsumugi feels the warm throb of remembered pleasure, of knowing that he is, after all, right where Natsume wants him. Their rings make a small, metallic noise when they knock together. “After All, you are Mine.”

Tsumugi smiles. “I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on my enstars twitter @tsumoogle


End file.
